Freak Like Me
by I HEART JATAE
Summary: They've got powers, but they're not mutants-- what's the story behind these two girls? Rated for language/sexuality. First REAL chapter is now up.
1. Prologue

A/N: Whoo-hoo! After a veeerrrry long hiatus, i'm finally back! Er, does anyone even remember me...? Probably not. Bleh. Oh, well. Anywho, i'm simply in love with sirens, and i have very specific notions as to what they're like that kinda contradict the classic siren sterotype, so expect to expect the expected unexpected. Heh heh heh. This is just the prologue, i'll write more if i get some reviews! Umm i have no idea when this story takes place, but it's sometime before HeX Factor because i just KNOW i'd screw up Wanda and make her all OOC-y, and because i never got to see the Day Of Reckoning eps. I gave the new mutant kids a big-ish part in this because Bobby and Sam and Jubilee are just so coool, but i don't think i'm even gonna put Berzerker in this because i don't like him and he's lame. Nyaaahhh. I've some ideas on where i'm going with this, but they only go to the middle-ish part of the fic, so i'm always open to suggestments! X-men belong to Marvel, blah blah, you know the drill. Diana and Alina are mine, ALL MINE!! I stole the title from a very fitting Sugabes song that everyone should listen to, hee. Ahem. Okay. Here we go...  
  
Suggested Music for This Chapter:  
  
-- My Orphanage by Rasputina  
-- Sleep to Dream by Fiona Apple  
-- My Favorite Mistake by Sheryl Crow  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
I always get blamed for things others do wrong.  
  
That's the way it always has been. Growing up back home, I was the ugly duckling with an attitude problem. All seven of my brothers and sisters were either incredibly good-looking or incredibly sweet and talented. Unfortunately, being the youngest, I'm made up of the scum that was left at the bottom of the gene pool. And, since every family has a scapegoat, I got blamed for problems that weren't my fault in any way, shape, or form.  
  
"Mother would have a job if it wasn't for you, Alina."  
  
"Father would still be alive if it weren't for you, Alina."  
  
"You're the reason our family's fucked-up, Alina."  
  
Alina, Alina, Alina. Always my fault, because I'm not perfect. Fine. Two can play at this game. I stopped speaking to them when i was ten, and ran away when I was fourteen. Too bad i hadn't waited longer-- because, like all ugly ducklings, it was a phase. If they could only see me now. A gorgeous, sexy, sixteen-year-old stripper.  
  
It wasn't just my family, either. There's all this mutant business going on, and I get in trouble because I have powers. Not mutant powers, but powers nonetheless. Powers that I'm proud to have, but I am forced to hide, for fear of being hunted down as something I'm not.  
  
Even when I tell people that I'm not a mutant, I'm still discriminated against for what I am. A siren. They hear I'm a siren, and the immediate reaction is, "You sang to make me fall in love with you! None of this is real!" The reputation sirens have is all because of those Italian sirens, who have ruined it for us all with their beauty and pride and sadism.  
  
The sirens from the Sicily and the Adriatic are the most famous. They're the ones who sing to sailors to make them fall in love with them, become so obsessed with them that the poor men would drown trying to get to them. This is what those sirens thought was a good time.  
  
So sirens are all gorgeous, sadistic, Sicilian women who sing to seduce men into suicide, right? Wrong.  
  
First of all, not all sirens are beautiful women. Men and children can be sirens, as well as some of the ugliest people on the planet. Sirens are like human beings-- some are good, and some are evil. Some are humble, some are vain. It all depends on the siren.  
  
Not all sirens sing, either. Sirens are a species, and they inhabit different parts of the world; mostly Europe. Each race of sirens has a different talent. The Italian sirens are singers. The Chinese sirens are cooks. British sirens are writers. Italians from the Alps are painters. In the heart of the US, they're inventors, and in California, they're actors. I'm from the middle-east, and I'm a dancer.  
  
Ever wonder why Shakespeare was such an incredible playwrite? Why the Mona Lisa is so fascinating? How Thomas Edison thought up so many incredible new gadgets? Why almost everyone seems to love that greasy Chinese food? Why bellydancers always seem to be so sexy and fascinating? Why Hollywood is the entertainment capitol of the world?  
  
Well, now you know.  
  
But do you know the most important thing about sirens? The most annoying misconception? The one thing everyone should know about us?  
  
Our power has nothing to do with seduction.  
  
When we perform for someone-- when they see us dance or try our cooking or hear us sing or watch us do whatever our talent may be-- it opens up their minds to us. We can see everything they see, know everything they know. We can make them do whatever we want. And if you're not careful, if you don't have enough control, five seconds of this can be too much, and you can go insane. Or you can be consumed by the power and manipulate people's lives to better your own. That's what happened to the Sicilian sirens, and look at them now. They're well near extinct.  
  
I can't use my power without being accused of being a mutant. Then when they find out I'm a siren, I'm accused of being a manipulative seductress. And the ones who know me for who I am, the ones who know better than anyone that things aren't what they seem, shun me. And for what?  
  
For being an ugly-fuckin'-duckling. Shit.  
  
The whole mutant situation kind of strikes my interest. They are the only beings who seem to accept me, to some extent. But from what I've heard, they're terrorists. Angry at the world that they're different, like me. And I know I shouldn't believe what people say, but it scares me sometimes to think that someone could pick me up and hurl me across the room when I can't even see them.  
  
But it doesn't just scare me; it angers me. It pisses me off that, just as I'd expect, I'm getting shit on because some genetic freaks are destroying the planet. And I know it's a cynacle and bitter thought, but these people who are supposed to be helping-- these "superheroes"-- don't seem to be helping much at all.  
  
My friend, Diana, is pretty much my complete opposite. She's a siren, too-- from the Adriatic. She's not ashamed to be one, but ashamed of what her ancestors have done, and tries to make up for it by being a do-gooder. Now, she's gotta be one of the sweetest girls I've ever met, and I really admire her for the time she spends in school and doing community service, but she's just so incredibly naive. I don't know why she thinks that helping these people is going to make them like us anymore. They're never going to accept us.  
  
Do you know why people cry at a happy ending? Why the best movies are the ones where the main guy dies? It's because, deep down, we all have this sadistic desire to see the hero in pain. It makes us feel better about not being as good as them.  
  
Diana is obsessed with these X-men people. I swear, she has GOT to have a crush on one of them, but she keeps insisting she doesn't. She's got an entire wall of our apartment covered with pictures and newspaper articles that have anything to do with them. It's pretty annoying, seeing as our apartment doesn't have too many walls. Not as annoying as her crappy jazz records, though. If I hear Billy Holiday sing "Stormy Weather" one more time today, I'm going to strangle someone. Rasputina, on the other hand, is real quality music from an awesome band, but I couldn't pay Diana to listen to it for longer than a minute.  
  
So, our thoughts on mutants and the X-men certainly differ, as do our thoughts on people in general; she's a sweet, naive little girl and i'm a bitchy, cynacle stripper; she goes to school and volunteers non-stop, while I'm out working my ass off seven days a week to put food on the table and keep us off the streets; she's a singer who can't dance, and I'm a dancer who can't sing. And to top it all off, we listen to complete polar-ends of the music spectrum. So, I hear you asking, "How could you two possibly stand to be in the same room, let alone live together?" Well, you know what they say.  
  
Opposites attract.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
A/N: Okay, the prologue's over! Now flame, FLAME!! Er... i mean.... review, REVIEW!!!! 


	2. North

A/N: Whee, wasn't that fun? WASN'T IT?! Err... yeah. So anywhat, this is chapter two... or is it chapter one? Blahh, prologues always screw up the chapter ordering and such..... Review like mad, you... uh.... storks!! Oh, and i've never hotwired a car before, i was just going by some instructions i found somewhere, so don't laugh TOO hard if i've fouled it all up, which i probably have. *_*  
  
Suggested Music for This Chapter:  
  
-- Let's Run by Le Tigre  
-- The Kids Aren't Alright by Offspring  
-- Smack My Bitch Up by Prodigy (this one is especially fitting)  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Alina dropped an armful of money on top of her duffel bag, ignoring the glares of the other women in the dressing room.  
  
"I don't understand how she makes so much cash," Candy said, loud enough for Alina to hear. "I mean she's no better than any of the rest of us."  
  
"It's because she's so young," Ariel responded, applying shimmery green eyeshadow. "She can't be older than twenty. Hell, I'd be suprised if she was even eighteen yet."  
  
Candy let her mouth drop open slightly. "No way! That's not legal!" Ariel shrugged.  
  
"Wouldn't be the first I've seen. She's probably a runaway." Candy snickered.  
  
"She musta fucked Dan pretty good to get the job," she whispered loudly. Ariel gave her a withering glare.  
  
"Candy, she can hear you, you know." Candy rolled her eyes.  
  
"Like she doesn't deserve it. She's been nothing but a cold, snobby bitch ever since she came here, no matter how many times I've tried being nice to her."  
  
"She's got problems of her own," Ariel told her, standing up and fixing her hair in the mirror one last time. "You'd be a bitch too if you started stripping when you were that young." Just then, Dan came barging through the door of his office, his face redder than a coke-addict's nose. He stormed over to Alina, who was packing her things into her duffle, and yanked her up by her long, black hair.  
  
"You fucking little mutant whore!" he yelled, throwing her against the row of lockers. She would have screamed, if she hadn't had the wind knocked out of her. She stared up at him in horror for a few seconds, then ran as fast as she could out the back door, snatching up her duffel on the way. Dan fumed for a few seconds while he watched her leave, then returned to his office to find his gun.  
  
Upon getting to the parking lot, she picked up a cinder block that was lying on the ground. Using nearly all her strength, she hurled the heavy object into the back window of the nearest car-- an old pickup which, thankfully, had no alarm. She crawled inside, ignoring the loud pain in her back and the pieces of glass that were now sticking out of various parts of her arms and legs. Feeling around on the floor, she found a large screwdriver. "Yes!" she whispered to herself. She jammed it into the ignition lock cylinder and jerked the screwdriver towards her, trying to pry the whole thing off.  
  
Dan kicked the back door open and looked around the unlit parking lot. "Come out, you little mutant bitch! I know you're hiding out here somewhere!" He began stalking between the rows of cars in the lot, searching for the young middle-eastern girl.  
  
Alina's head jerked in the direction of his voice, which she immediately regretted because it caused her great pain in her back and neck. She ducked her head as low as she could and continued working with the screwdriver. Finally, the cylindar came off with a "snap!" loud enough for Dan to turn his attention in her direction.  
  
Hearning his footsteps crunching on the gravel, Alina tried her best not to panic and screw it up. She felt around for the steering lock switch and, once she found it, pushed it to the right. She peeked out the window and saw Dan looking inside the car next to hers.  
  
"Fuck!" Alina shoved the screwdriver into the space where the ignition lock cylinder used to be and turned it, bringing the car to life.  
  
Dan spun around and was greeted by the painfully bright headlights of a rusty blue Toyota being shined directly into his face. He put a hand in front of his eyes and, knowing that Alina was driving it, shot blindly in the car's general direction. Fortunately for her, he missed.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Diana, get your stuff together, we're leaving!"  
  
Diana lifted her head from her pillow and blinked sleepily. "Alina, it's--" she paused to look at the clock on the floor next to their bed. "2:14 in the morning. Can't we--"  
  
"NOW, Diana!" Alina yelled impatiently, carrying two boxes full of clothes out the door. "We're leaving NOW!"  
  
"Ah, crap, not again..." Diana rolled off the old, stinky matress they called "bed" and carried their bedding downstairs as fast as was possible in her less-than-half-awake state. They had been staying in this city for six months now-- that was the longest they'd ever gone without moving. But, as always, Alina had gotten into trouble and they had to move again. They never even bothered to unpack anymore-- everything was kept in cardboard boxes because it made moving that much faster.  
  
"So what'd you do this time, Alina?" Diana asked with a bored tone once they'd gotten out of town. "Sell one of your stripper-buddies some heroin? Steal some clothes? I know you stole a car, because ours broke down weeks ago, and I've never seen this truck before." Alina's honey eyes glared at her quickly before turning their attention back to the road.  
  
"Why do you always assume it's something I did?" she demanded.  
  
"Because it always is!" Diana yelled back angrily, not caring when her chin-length brown hair fell into her eyes. "You and your 'bad girl' urges! You know, this time I was stupid enough to think it'd last! I thought maybe, maybe I'll be able to complete a full year at one school. That maybe you wouldn't get us into trouble again. But, here we are, as usual, with you trying to tell me that it wasn't your fault you did whatever-it-is-that-you-did!"  
  
Alina fumed in her seat. "For your information, my boss beat me up because he thought I was a mutant, then tried to shoot me! I HAD to steal this thing to save my own fucking life!" Then it was silent, save the hum of the truck's engine.  
  
"Really?" Diana asked quietly after a few minutes. Alina snorted.  
  
"No, Diana, not really. We're actually skipping town to get away from the little yellow sloth-like aliens and their flying key-lime pie, complete with disco-lights."  
  
Diana smirked. "You're hopeless," she sighed, looking out the window and watching as the hills rolled by. "So, where we headed?"  
  
"North," Alina said shortly. That was all she knew. Diana sighed again, then suddenly perked up, having been hit by a sudden idea.  
  
"We could go to Bayville!" she chirped. Alina raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Massachusettes...?"  
  
"No no, New York! That's where the X-men live!"  
  
"Not this again," Alina groaned. "Diana, listen to me very carefully. We. Are. Not. MUTANTS!"  
  
"But we've got powers!" Diana whined back. "And we'd have a free place to stay, and I heard that the institute-thingy where they live is HUGE, like a mansion or something!"  
  
Alina rolled her eyes. "Here we go again..." she muttered, only to be ignored as her best friend continued chattering from the seat next to her.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
A/N: If you can read this, you can (and should!) review this fic. 


End file.
